


In Which Abe Takaya Discovers the Dangers of Alcohol, Fights Crime, and Learns the True Meaning of Christmas

by CamouflageCamel



Category: Ookiku Furikabutte
Genre: Denial, Drunkenness, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-07
Updated: 2011-01-07
Packaged: 2017-10-14 12:10:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/149136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CamouflageCamel/pseuds/CamouflageCamel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are a few rules Abe has set for himself after their first year in high school. He's about to break one of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Which Abe Takaya Discovers the Dangers of Alcohol, Fights Crime, and Learns the True Meaning of Christmas

**Author's Note:**

  * For [comixologist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/comixologist/gifts).



> I lied: only two of those things in the title actually happen.
> 
> Happy New Year, and I hope you enjoy it! ♥

Her hand is on his neck.

 

They’re at one of the team’s more frequented bars after one of their practices, and Abe’s about a beer and three quarters away from completely striking out and heading back to the dugout. But despite his dwindling ability to concentrate, all he’s able to focus on is that woman’s hand on his pitcher’s neck.

 

It’s not unusual for Mihashi to get the occasional hanger-on. In fact, at this point in what seems to be becoming a rather lucrative baseball career, Abe would be surprised if things were any other way.

 

But the admirers are usually never this… _forward_.

 

It’s a cool, almost chilly night during off-season, with temperatures low enough that Abe had made sure to remind Mihashi that layering up was more of a requirement than a suggestion. After all, it’s a bit of a distance between the field and the bar that they’re meeting at. And now he’s more than glad that he’d had the forethought to suggest the protection of the extra jacket, because now there’s some seductive siren firmly plastered at Mihashi’s right, seemingly intent on slipping her hand down the back of the pitcher’s shirt and venturing into what Abe firmly considers Foul Territory for strangers.

 

He might be exaggerating, a little. It’s more of an arm-around-the-shoulder deal that’s going on, but the alcohol, exhaustion, and his ever-present protectiveness are combining together to form some unholy trinity of distrust boiling over in the pit of his stomach.

 

Mihashi’s gotten better with people somewhere along the way. He’s still awkward, still stutters on occasion, but that brilliant smile he’d offered Abe so long ago is no longer a rarity. Even if he continues to fear the wrath of his catcher, he’s made the effort to be a bit more sociable, and it certainly shows. But girls – or women, now—are still a peculiar subject for Mihashi, despite his increasing popularity with them. His verbal tics and nervous shiftiness increase ten-fold when an interviewer happens to be female, or when teenage girls beg to take a picture of him on the street.

 

So what bothers Abe so much is that Mihashi’s _totally fine_ with this chick hanging off his neck. He’s seen her around; she’s one of the managers’ sisters, or something like that. Leader of the team’s official fanclub in the Chiba region, if Abe remembers correctly. Shirai… Satsuki? Something like that.

 

She’s here and there on occasion, being friendly with team members and collected some rather tame information for club digests, but she seems to have taken a particular shine to Mihashi. And Mihashi, irritatingly enough, seems to have warmed up to her as well.

 

“She’s like Tajima. B-but, a girl, so maybe a little like Shinooka,” was the depth of Mihashi’s explanation when Abe had asked him some time ago. That was all well and good, but Shinooka certainly hadn’t taken to pulling Mihashi into impromptu hugs and ruffling up his hair and _what the hell is she doing rubbing soothing circles into Mihashi’s back?_ Abe opens his mouth to protest (he’s sure some fantastic bullshit will spring into his mind as usual, like ‘amateurs shouldn’t attempt massages’, or something like that) but at that moment, Shirai catches his eyes, freezes, and slowly withdraws her hand from Mihashi’s person.

 

Abe quickly downs some of his beer, hiding the look of satisfaction that he’s sure is spreading across his face. Apparently his stare of murderous intent hasn’t weakened any since his time out of high school.

 

The woman, a bubbly brunette just slightly shorter than Mihashi himself, recovers quickly and begins to laugh at something the pitcher’s murmured into his drink. Mihashi, in return, smiles that gentle smile of his just a little bit wider. And damn the rather loud ruckus their teammates are making in every corner of the bar, but Abe’s sitting only a seat a way and he can’t hear a damned thing. He resists the burning urge to just stand up and push in between them, to break apart their little chat and pull Mihashi back to the dorms.

 

Abe’s working on being a little less… what had the others called it? _Overbearing_. But it’s hard as hell, seeing Mihashi engage in conversation with much more ease then he’d ever had while speaking with Abe. It’s already ridiculously frustrating, seeing everyone else succeed where Abe continues to fail, but the fact that she’s a _girl_ and _attractive_ and _eligible_ and _touching Mihashi_ makes it so much worse. There’s some underlying emotion that Abe refuses to catalogue bubbling underneath the surface of his skin. Normally, he’s a bit of an expert in forsaking his more human qualities (morality, empathy, libido) to focus on his far more important analytical abilities, but Mihashi has this way of taking everything Abe thinks he knows about himself and turning it upside down.

 

Mihashi giggles into his beer (his first one, and Abe’s making sure he doesn’t mess with his diet by letting him go for another one) and something Shirai’s said, and the two of them burst into quiet titters.

 

Abe whips his head toward his drink and concentrates on not completely losing his shit. The _hell_ are they talking about? How many things can Mihashi talk about that aren’t baseball or… baseball? And if it’s baseball they’re discussing, what in God’s name can have them nearly to tears with laughter?

 

The bartender approaches, from his left side, mouth open as if to ask if Abe’d like another drink, but he flinches midstep at Abe’s clouded expression and instead goes to polish the counter superfluously. Abe curses inwardly and takes another practiced sip to hide whatever expression’s come across his face. He’s now about a beer and a half away from striking out completely.

 

And then Shirai has the audacity to turn and _wink_ at him.

 

Fuck it. He downs the last of his glass and signals for another one. It’s off-season, anyway.

 

 

:-:-:-:-:

 

 

There are a number of things that Abe has been able to admit to himself since Nishiura’s rather explosive debut at the summer tournament all those years ago. The first, and by far the hardest truth to accept, is the fact that Haruna is _not_ completely batshit insane, as he had previously been convinced. This has lead Abe to regain a grudging respect of the older man, who occasionally takes time out of his fabulous baseball career to show up and bother the hell out of Abe.

 

The second, almost-as-hard-to-admit truth is the fact that he was (and still is, to some extent) unsociable as hell. It’s taken conscious effort on his part, but Mihashi’s growing desire to socialize and to _make friends_ has also pulled Abe along for the ride. And far be it from him to scare potential acquaintances off. Even if the majority of them make Abe want to smother them with his catcher’s mitt, what with the way that they just _stare_ at Mihashi, lips parted slightly and eyes glazed over, as if he’s God incarnate. Which is a pretty accurate description of him, if God channeled all of his awesome power into pitching perfect games.

 

The third truth, one that’s been ingrained in every waking thought or action that Abe’s made since that first year, is that Mihashi’s wellbeing always comes before his own. Before anyone else’s, for that matter. Whether it be his physical condition, or his emotional state (which, admittedly, Abe’s got a pretty terrible track record with), Mihashi is a priority. _The_ priority _._ So if it makes Mihashi happy, then Abe will play nice and go to parties and attend the weekly team outing and do other meaningless, pointless, aggravating things for his friend. Because when Mihashi’s happy, he’s a good pitcher. And when he’s a good pitcher, he’s happy. Even if the world suddenly flips upside down overnight, and north becomes south and wrong becomes right, and clocks start spinning backward, Abe will always know this sole truth.

 

So far be it from Abe to push all of his weird… _feelings_ onto his pitcher. Abe might have gained enough self-awareness to realize that he’s emotionally stunted and socially awkward as hell, but he’s not completely ignorant. By now he’s recognized that whatever he’s keeping shut away inside of himself— whatever he feels for Mihashi— is somewhere south of normal. Somewhere a little beyond ‘close friends’ and ‘a successful battery’. Somewhere that Abe, who’s never been a fan of introspection, refuses to define.

 

Even if he doesn’t care so much about what people think of him, he definitely cares about what people think of Mihashi. Mihashi’s career, his reputation, can’t be sullied by a teammate’s increasingly disturbing obsession with him. More than that, Mihashi has always been a bit of a well-intentioned people-pleaser. There’s no way Abe’s going to unload all of this crap onto him, because Mihashi’s going to feel obligated to reciprocate, even if he doesn’t feel the same way. Whatever that means.

 

So if there’s a fourth truth that Abe’s discovered, it’s a singular ultimatum that he’ll follow to the grave: he will never, _ever_ , scrutinize any of these foreign thoughts, will never give any of those _feelings_ more than a cursory examination. He’d much rather sweep the situation under a rug than let himself think about it, because if he thinks about it he’s going to have to address it and define it, and if he defines it, it’ll consume his thoughts and interfere with his game, and then Mihashi will notice and become concerned, and then he’ll pester Abe about it until it all boils over and spills out and destroys everything they’ve worked for. Everything that _Mihashi_ has worked for.

 

Or course, ultimatums mean nothing when alcohol is involved.

 

This is really something that Abe should have considered, as he’s rather proud of his strategic approach to life. Maybe there should have been some sort of failsafe he’d planned to keep dams from bursting and levies from flooding, but for all this natter that’s running like a stream at the back of his head, all he can really focus on is the fact that Mihashi’s pulling off his shoes and unzipping his jacket and just in general _undressing him_.

 

Abe doesn’t get drunk, as a rule. He’d tried it a few times, back when he was in college and Mihashi was just starting out in the league, and Abe’d see him on television and become so overcome with _something_ that he’d tried to take the classical route and drink his sorrows away. But the feeling had never appealed to him: the strange weightlessness of inebriation and the complete loss of _control_ over his words and actions was, and is, anything but fun.

 

After he’d finished school and gotten recruited, he’d forced himself to become something of a casual drinker, because Mihashi had already become friendly with the team, and wanted Abe to do the same. And if the majority of the free time with their team was spent at classy bars or parties or social events that expected a polite drink or two, then Abe just had to learn to play along.

 

So one or two drinks is the rule, but of course there’s always a fucking exception to every rule. And so Abe’s gotten himself completely trashed, and now Mihashi’s helping him to bed back at the dorms.

 

Everything’s fuzzy as hell, and there’s that weightless feeling again, like he’s at the apex of a roller-coaster, dreading the sudden drop before him. And before him there’s the smooth expanse of Mihashi’s neck and collarbone, strong arms that’ve developed lean, wiry muscle, soft lips that Mihashi’s biting just so, warm eyes scanning Abe’s face for any sign of awareness—

 

And it’s because he’s lost control, because everything is upside down and wrong seems so _right_ that he takes the plunge, prepares himself for that sudden drop, and pushes himself upward to meet Mihashi halfway.

 

Mihashi freezes for a moment, a minute, a _decade_ , and then he’s suddenly relaxing against Abe, his lips pressed against Abe’s own. And that’s all the invitation Abe needs, really: he teases at Mihashi’s lower lip with his teeth, swathes away the tingling feeling with his tongue, and suddenly Mihashi is _open_ and hot and wet and everything all at once. Abe fists his hands into the pitchers shirt, pulls him down against him, and proceeds to enact every fantasy he’s never let himself think.

 

It’s sloppy and uncoordinated like he wouldn’t believe, but God is it good. Mihashi is pressed flush against him, body warm and so surprisingly soft, and before he’s realized it Abe’s turned them over and exploring every inch of Mihashi’s mouth with his own, his hands doing the same with Mihashi’s body. Mihashi lets loose a soft whimper beneath him and pulls even closer, if possible. And from there… Abe doesn’t remember much. Partially because of the alcohol, abut mostly because how completely mindblowing everything is. He knows that Mihashi pulls away, and for a moment Abe is overcome by unbridled fear (is he leaving?) but no, he’s just coming up for air. So Abe takes a breath of his own, and then—

 

And then completely blacks out.

 

 

:-:-:-:-:

 

 

He wakes up to a blinding headache and the burning rays of the sun peeking through his window blinds. Mihashi is huddled in a corner, gripping a pillow to his chest as he snores lightly. He stretches, swinging both of his arms above his head, and makes a mental note to remind Mihashi to sleep in his own room—they’re not kids anymore, after all. But then he remembers last night.

 

And then the terrifying, blinding fear sets in after that.

 

Abe had overheard students at his university bemoan the morning after, had heard his teammates jokingly discuss all of its ramifications. He’d rolled his eyes at the idea, turned back to his homework or returned to his drills, never really thinking it over because when would Abe Takaya ever run into a situation like that? So, understandably, the only thing he can think through the killer hangover he has is _‘It’s always funny until it happens to you.’_

 

True to his methodical nature, Abe allows himself only four minutes, at most, to completely freak out. He drops his head between his knees, breathes deeply to avoid a panic attack, and counts backward from one thousand. By the time he’s reached one, he’s not feeling any better, but he’s not feeling any worse, so that might count for something. Then again, it’s not like things _can_ get any worse, so maybe that doesn’t mean much after all.

 

Plan. He needs a plan. Why doesn’t game calling ever work in real life?

 

Okay. All right. First things first is talking to Mihashi.

 

Or maybe that’s a bad idea.

 

What if they start talking and everything goes in the wrong direction and suddenly falls to pieces? What if he starts talking and the first thing that comes out of his mouth is this _whatever it is_ that he’s been keeping locked away for so long? What if it all bursts out and just keeps spilling and nothing’s ever the same again—

 

Abe stops himself from thinking, takes a deep breath, and starts over again.

 

There are three ways he can approach this. The first is to calmly, rationally, talk to Mihashi about what went on last night. To finally address his feelings, and share his results with his pitcher.

 

Needless to say, this option is obviously, completely, definitely out.

 

The second is to calmly, rationally, lie through gritted teeth. To tell Mihashi _‘Oh, how silly of me, did I forget to tell you that I’m sort of a first class slut when I’m drunk? Don’t take it personally!’_ But not only does that stab all sorts of gaping holes in Abe’s pride, he’s also pretty sure that Mihashi will see right through him. He’s generally naïve, yes, but at this point he’s known Abe far too long to take such a blatant lie at face value. Worst comes to worst, he’ll end up asking Tajima if such a thing is possible, and then Abe will be the laughing stock of _everything_.

 

So this is also a particularly terrible option.

 

The third, and probably the most plausible at the moment, is to pretend it never happened. Like one of his roommates had said in passing long ago, what was a little bro-job between friends? (And they hadn’t even gotten that far!) The whole ordeal is nothing that can’t be chalked up to the alcohol and thoroughly ignored and forgotten the next day.

 

So this is exactly what Abe decides to do. A hastily scrawled reminder, _‘Breakfast in the mess at 11’_ gets taped to the door, and then he gets dressed, brushes the taste of Mihashi out of his mouth, and prepares to treat everything like it’s fucking _normal_ again. Because it is.

 

 

:-:-:-:-:

 

 

 

Except it’s not.

 

Because try as he might, he can’t face Mihashi after that night. Not completely. The moment Abe walks into the locker room at practice and catches Mihashi’s eyes, his blood goes cold and suddenly _he’s_ the one dropping his gaze and looking away.

 

Abe curses himself under his breath: isn’t he supposed to acting like nothing happened? Not that that’s an option anymore, seeing as how he’d obviously just proven otherwise. He forces himself to look back, but by this time, Mihashi’s already turned away, flushing furiously and wringing his hands in his shirt. Abe tries to think of something call out to him, or something to say to him, but he’s always been horrible at small talk, He watches as Mihashi gets dressed, arms rigid and face suddenly ashen, before running out on to the field.

 

And Abe feels like he’s back in high school, failing at Mihashi 101 all over again.

 

Things get progressively worse after that. What starts as awkward conversation and shaky pitches becomes full-blown avoidance and a complete failure to accomplish anything at practice. Most of the team recognizes by now the incredible combination they make as a battery. Which is all well and good, until they _aren’t_ an incredible battery. Which is now, when Abe looks at Mihashi and all he can see half-lidded eyes and bruised lips, all he can feel is soft skin yielding to tight muscle. And then everything threatens to come breaking through the barriers Abe’s built, and his breath catches and, oh, strike three, he’s out _again_. Not a solid hit today, and he can already see some of his teammates giving him quizzical glances as he makes his way back to the dugout.

 

He’s got to make things right, somehow. But for the life of him, Abe can’t quite figure out how to do that.

 

Mihashi, to his credit, doesn’t let things sit the way they are. Or tries not to, at least. Almost a week after what Abe is tentatively referring to as ‘The Called Game’, he approaches Abe after a particularly grueling practice. The rest of the team is filing out one by one, some to head out for a short bite to eat before heading back, or some going straight to the dorms and the welcoming comfort of their beds. Abe envies them, really. He’d like to be anywhere but here.

 

And, confusingly enough, there’s also no place he’d rather be. He’d like to be here with Mihashi, if only somehow, last week hadn’t happened, and they were just normal again. Normal for them being the occasionally stunted conversation and the awkward friendship they’d developed, but at least it hadn’t been _uncomfortable_. After everything, even if Mihashi wasn’t as verbose with Abe as he was with Tajima or Izumi and Hamada, or even _Shirai_ , he and Abe had reached a point where the clumsy, uncoordinated nature of their relationship was expected. It was comfortable, even, trailing off after a sentence and realizing that that it _wasn’t_ awkward, simply by virtue of the fact that they were so used to it.

 

Now, however, they’re back to the beginning. Mihashi catches his eye, then quickly averts them, then looks back, and then drops his gaze just as quickly as before.

 

“A-Abe-kun…” he begins, quietly, and then tries again with a little more force behind it. “Abe-kun—”

 

“Hey Abe, are these yours?”

 

Abe turns to see another member of the second squad holding up a pair of spikes that are indeed Abe’s. He nods jerkily, grabs the shoes, and then turns to Mihashi and gives him what he hopes is a confident-looking nod.

 

“Good work today, Mihashi,” he croaks out, even though it is a terrible lie and the truth of the matter is that he’d just barely been able to catch anything thrown at him that day—something that was both Mihashi’s fault and his own. “Remember to weigh yourself tomorrow morning. And bring a scarf.”

 

He’s through the door and out of the locker rooms before Mihashi can say anything in return.

 

 

:-:-:-:-:

 

 

“He misses you, you know.”

 

Abe struggles to _not_ jump a foot in the air, and manages to keep himself only a few centimeters of the ground. “Are you trying to kill me,” he says, very seriously, to Shirai Satsuki, who’s standing at his immediate left with a soft smile on her face.

 

“Not at all. That’d be bad for the team, right?” Shirai shrugs one shoulder, takes a sip of her drink, and slides her eyes across the crowded bar in front of them. “But he barely talks any more. Hardly smiles. And anyone can see where the origin for that problem lies.”

 

“Are we finished here?” Abe cuts in briskly. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knows that it’s probably in his best interest (in Mihashi’s best interest) to be polite and nice and whatever to the head of one of their fanclubs, but he really can’t deal with this right now. It’s been a month of shitty catching and pitching and playing in general, not only with each other but with reserve catchers and pitchers on their respective squads. Abe can’t focus, and he’d really love to give Mihashi one of the aggressive pep-talks he’d gotten used to handing out in high school, except that he can’t think beyond saying, _‘Don’t let your emotions get in the way of the game’_ without feeling like a complete and total hypocrite. Which normally wouldn’t bother him, but he can’t bring himself to say it anyway.

 

Because the small, selfish part of him that acknowledges his attraction to Mihashi also relishes in the fact that Mihashi’s so affected by what had transpired that night. Or, Abe’s refusal to talk about it, at least. Mihashi, who won’t give up the mound to anyone for any reason, despite failing time and again back in middle school, tells the coach that he’ll pitch relief for the next practice game. It’s both terrifying and exhilarating, to have that kind of power over someone.

 

But that’s neither here nor there, now. What’s important is getting the hell away from Shirai before she starts digging deeper. He knows that the fanclub president isn’t like some reporters or journalists, desperately trying to grasp at whatever misfortunes they sense falling about professional baseball players. Abe understands that she’s essentially on his side, and wouldn’t print anything incriminating, but that doesn’t make her presence any less irritating.

 

“We’re done,” Shirai replies, pushing off of the counter she’s leaning on. “But I hope you two aren’t.”

 

Abe stares her down, until she disappears somewhere within the crowd before him.

 

 

:-:-:-:-:

 

 

Sometimes Ab feels like his luck is bad enough to rival Hanai’s. Because, of course, the moment he’s having a complete meltdown, when everything’s going _wrong_ and he’s so powerless to stop it, of course that’s the day when Haruna drops by to grace Abe with his presence.

 

Someone, Sakaeguchi, maybe, had once suggested that Haruna was attempting to fill the position of Abe’s nonexistent older brother because he’d never had any younger siblings of his own. Abe thinks that’s complete bullshit. Haruna may not be as crazy as Abe had originally made him out to be, but he must take some perverse pleasure in meddling with other people’s affairs, because he always seems to show up when Abe’s so lost that he’ll actually resort to _taking advice_ to find his way again.

 

Human error is one thing that Abe’s accepted as one of the necessary evils in baseball. It might make one of his teammates fumble a ball and lose a run (and, no,  he’ll never drop that, much to Mizutani’s misfortune), but it also might appear as a kink in their opposing team’s well-oiled machine, might work to their advantage and be the decisive factor that turns a game around. In the end, Abe supposes baseball itself is just a game with one team fucking up only slightly less than the other.

 

But human error in _life_ is complete and utter crap that happens over and over again, and try as he might, Abe can’t escape it himself. So when Haruna stops by and starts giving advice again, Abe knows that he’s probably going to try to follow it because he’s a idiot, and he never learns, and despite the fact that listening to Haruna almost always seems to lead to abject misery  ( _‘no, really, Takaya, you’re smart enough to go to college, maybe you should try that out before going into baseball’_ ), Abe will do it anyway. Because maybe, just maybe, Haruna understands more than anyone (besides Mihashi, of course) what being part of a battery with Abe is like. What being close to Abe is like. And maybe he’ll shed some light on the path ahead, because Abe certainly can’t see where to go next.

 

“What’s wrong with Mihashi?” is the first thing Haruna says. He’s playing with the salt shaker, sitting across the booth at the small restaurant they’ve deemed neutral ground to meet at. (Anywhere at the dorms would have blasphemous, after all: they’re technically rivals, and Abe has the feeling that his team members can only stomach one friendly enemy, in the form of Tajima Yuuichirou. And even that is pushing it.)

 

“What?” Abe pushes his food around his plate. He’s not one for avoiding things, really, but this is _Mihashi_ , who makes him do things he’d never thought he’d do. And considering the nature of the problem, it’s not like he’s going to bring it up willingly.

 

“The Lazy Lion says ‘practice is progressing much slower than usual, due to the growing rift between two fan favorite players’.” Haruna unscrews the cap of the salt shaker slightly and sets it back in its rightful place. Pity to the next patron who sat at the booth and tried to use it. “If that’s not you and Mihashi, who it could possibly be?”

 

Abe doesn’t know which is more appalling: the fact that Haruna actually takes the time to read something as trivial as a fanclub’s weekly tabloid, or the fact that the weekly tabloid is suddenly so terrifyingly perceptive. It’s Shirai, Abe realizes. Her and her meddling nature rivals Haruna, really.

 

“I’m a fan favorite now?” he deflects, as casual as he can possibly sound.

 

“When you’re not making their pitcher cry. So, again, what’s wrong with Mihashi?”

 

“Nothing’s wrong.”

 

Haruna leans back in his seat, rolls his eyes and gives a skeptical laugh. “I’m sure.”

 

“ _Nothing_ _is wrong_ ,” Abe snaps, feeling rather frustrated about this whole ordeal. Well, more than before, which is definitely something. “What, you’re going to trust a tabloid over my word?”

 

“Any day, Takaya.”

 

Abe frowns at the use of his given name. It’s not as if he particularly minds it, but the fact that Haruna has always assumed they’d been on a first-name basis, even during their tumultuous time in the seniors league, never fails to piss Abe off. He ignores that, though, and focuses on the topic at hand. “And why is that?”

 

“Because you have a bad habit of running away from shit that bothers you,” Haruna says, sounding rather sage-like.

 

Abe can’t help but let loose a bitter laugh at that. “And when have I ever run away?”

 

“I don’t know, lemme think.” Haruna strokes at his chin in mock thought before stumbling over a mock epiphany. “Oh, yeah, that’s right: _‘look at me, I’m so in denial about the fact that I’m a control freak that I’m going to run off to a backwater-school where no one knows me and try to manipulate my way to success!’_ Sound familiar?”

 

Abe stiffens just a bit. That… hits a little close to home. Even if it’s not true. _It’s not._ “I can leave here any time, you know.”

 

“But you’re not going to.” Which is true, although the cheeky grin Haruna gives him really makes Abe reconsider. “Face it, Takaya: I know you way too well. Which is why I know that something’s wrong, and that you’ve got to get your shit together before it’s too late.”

 

“My ‘shit’ isn’t falling apart, so there’s no need to get it together. And why are you so concerned? Shouldn’t you be glad that we’re not doing as well as we should?”

 

“I prefer games when they’re a challenge,” Haruna replies, looking triumphant. “And I’m concerned because I know you, and I know Mihashi. And I know what’ll happen if you let things go on the way they are now.”

 

He leans in close, now, looks _serious_ for once, and says something that, honest to God, scares the shit out of Abe.

 

“Do you want what happened with me and you to happen with you and Mihashi?”

 

 

:-:-:-:-:

 

 

Haruna’s words echo in Abe’s mind throughout the following hours, bouncing about and knocking loose some thoughts Abe had long since buried under self-righteous anger and contempt.

 

What had happened between he and Haruna was a breakdown of epic proportions; a collapse of trust that had had Abe loathing the pitcher for years. Even though they’re on amicable terms at this point, there’s  a part of Abe that will never forgive Haruna for those years, and will never forget all the pain that went along with them. More importantly, though, there’s also a part of Abe that will never forgive _himself_ , for letting things get so bad. For being unable to forgive, even now.

 

The thought that he might feel this way with Mihashi someday, drifting apart and eventually blaming everything on him—hating him somewhere deep down inside, even if they came to be friends again—it’s a thought that Abe can’t stand at all. He could never hate Mihashi. Won’t let himself get to that point, if he can help it.

 

So he leaves the restaurant, makes his back to the dorms and over to Mihashi’s room, and lets himself in. He doesn’t let himself think on the way, because he knows that if he thinks about it, he’ll just talk himself out of his resolve. So instead he focuses on Mihashi. Who doesn’t answer his door after the second knock, so Abe feels he’s entitled to let himself in at that point.

 

“Mihashi.”

 

Mihashi jerks upward and topples off of his bed, where it appears he’d be lying only moments beforehand. “A-Abe-kun—”

 

“Takaya,” Abe corrects, because it’s been _eight fucking years;_ how have they been so formal all this time? “Remember that time when I got drunk and kissed you?”

 

“A-A—“ Mihashi sputters a bit, waves his hands in the air, eyes wide and mouth gaping in that birdlike fashion of his. He does and awkward sort of crabwalk to the door, kicks it closed behind Abe, and then stares up at him from the floor like he’s just told Mihashi he eats babies. “Door—you can’t say--- not while it’s _open…”_

“It’s closed now,” Abe points out. “So I kissed you. And you kissed back. And then we forgot about it, except not, right?”

 

“R-right.” Mihashi seems to be over the initial shock. Now he’s moving on to secondary shock. “You didn’t want to talk about…”

 

“I’m sorry for that,” and God, that’s got to be one of the few times Abe’s said he’s sorry and actually _meant_ it. “I mean, for all of this. Except, I mean, if—Mihashi, _do_ you want to forget it?” Abe had never really considered that before, but now it seems like a real, almost frightening possibility. “I mean, Shirai-san—”

“Tajima!” Mihashi interrupts.

 

Abe whips his head about, sure that he’ll see the cleanup hitter laughing his ass off at Abe’s attempt at an anguished declaration of love but, thankfully, there’s no one there. He turns back to Mihashi slowly, still convinced. “Is he under your bed?”

 

“No!” Mihashi looks just as confused as Abe feels. “Why would—I meant, she’s like Tajima!”

 

“But a girl, so like Shinooka, yeah. So what does—”

 

“Tajima is…” Mihashi’s wringing his hands together, looking vaguely frustrated. “He’s my _friend_. Like Shirai-san is. That’s… t-that’s all.”

 

_Oh_. Well. “I really wish you could have been more literal when you tried to explain that the first time,” Abe says, breathing a sigh of relief. “Because then I’d have—”

 

He doesn’t get to say much more than that, because _Mihashi_ , timid little Mihashi, who’d curled up on the field and bawled his eyes out the first day they’d met, _that_ Mihashi is the one that’s giving a short sigh and pulling him down and into a kiss. Their foreheads bump together, which prompts a hasty withdraw and a curse on Abe’s part, and Mihashi offers him an flushed apology.

 

“S-sorry! You were… it was taking too long—”

 

“Bed,” Abe manages to choke out, “now.” Because impatience has never looked so hot.

 

Then they’re together again, lips pressed together, tongues slick against each other. It’s slower than before, with much more meaning to it, but what that meaning is, Abe can’t be pressed to discover at the moment. He’s backed Mihashi up against the side of his bed at this point, and from there’s it’s nothing but a slight push downward to have them toppling against the baseball-printed sheets. Abe’s hands find purchase on Mihashi’s hips, presses the smaller man against the mattress as he pulls himself forward to try and adjust his position. The clasp of his jeans catch against Mihashi’s belt, and he skids to a halt and— _oh._

 

Abe doesn’t even know how this all is supposed to work, but _fuck_ does that feel good. He grinds down against Mihashi, feels him arch upward and suddenly there’s this beautiful friction everything’s warm and the world is spinning. Every muscle in his body is trembling, and he can’ think, but then Mihashi is gasping his _name_ , and somehow that’s enough of an instruction for him. He drops his hips, thrusts hard and— _oh, God._ The world shifts again, colors fading before becoming oversaturated, and Abe feels like he’s probably supposed to last longer than this, but fuck it—just, _fuck—_

 

He’s falling now, plunging down and crushing his lips against Mihashi, feeling tides of pleasure cascade over his body all down his spine into his toes. And Abe’s heard a lot of crap from his old roommates about girls tasting like sunshine, or a light rain of a spring day, and he’s always thought that it’s nothing short of ridiculous. But now he sort of understands. Like, if baseball (the sport, not the object) had a taste, Abe thinks it would taste something like Mihashi. Resilient and frustrating and often difficult difficult, but so damned satisfying when you finally win. 

 

Mihashi goes still moments after Abe, hands still clawing at the catchers back, before relaxing into a boneless shell. And Abe himself feels like all of the energy is draining from his body, as if the tension that’s been mounting these past months is suddenly leaving him all at once. He rolls off Mihashi, and onto the bed, where they lay side by side for seconds, minutes, hours of silence.

 

Finally, Abe speaks, because somehow his ego always needs confirmation. “Mihashi,” he says, and he’s surprised to find that his voice isn’t wavering at all, “you don’t need to feel… _obligated_. To do any of this, not if you don’t want to. I’ll understand if you’re not…”

 

Mihashi’s hand is suddenly clasping his own, and Abe looks to his side to find that the pitcher is blushing fiercely, with his free arm thrown over his face in an attempt to hide it.

 

“I—I’m not… this is what I want. What I’ve wanted for a while.” Mihashi peeks from behind his arm, but then hides his face when he sees that Abe’s watching him. “Please?” he appends.

 

“Please?” Abe bites at his lower lip and struggles to keep from snorting a laugh. “I’m the one who should be asking that.”

 

Amongst other things, like, _‘why the hell haven’t we been doing this since high school?’_ and _‘where do we go from here?’_. Actually, there are probably a lot of things that Abe’s going to have to address after all of this. But he’s probably filled his quota for introspection for the year. Besides that, if there’s one thing that baseball’s taught him, it’s that sometimes, no amount of preparation can prepare you for a difficult game. If he wants to successfully call this game, maybe he’s got to stop over-thinking it and start playing it by ear.

 

 

 

 

**Epilogue:**

 

Shirai Satsuki expands her tabloid magazine to include politics, celebrity gossip, and discourses on paranormal activity. It becomes Japan’s version of some bizarre hybrid of Comso and the National Enquirer, complete with regular UFO sightings and _’27 Ways to Please Your Man’_ articles. Mihashi stockpiles the issues in his closet and occasional puts some of these methods to the test. Abe will say nothing about the results, but there’s probably a reason why he foots the bill for the subscription each month.

 

Haruna takes up a pseudonym and moonlights as a columnist in said tabloid. “Ask Ami” is initially the most popular section of the paper, but quickly bombs when Haruna realizes all of his stellar advice-giving skills can really only help emotionally-stunted, stubborn-as-hell professional baseball catchers. This is a surprisingly small target audience. He’s thankful that he never quit his day job.

 

Finally, Mihashi and Abe lead a successful baseball career together before ~~retiring to Costa Rica to set up a bait shop~~   ~~opening up a neighborhood bakery, where every pastry is baked with love~~   ~~riding off into the sunset, never to look back~~ moving back to Saitama, where Abe takes up ikebana and swears Mihashi to secrecy about it.

 

Tajima really _was_ under the bed the entire time.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I lied again: only one of those things actually happened.


End file.
